A Rainy, Quarantined, and Imperfect Easter

The rain sprinkles my bedroom window and seems to be in harmony with the chimes that are singing in the breeze on the back porch.

That is a beautiful positive.

This has been the normal routine lately. Finding what I call a beautiful positive and focusing on that in the midst of all of this.

I don't have to go into great detail as to what "all of this" is. We all have experienced it to some degree in some way and some how. At the least we have been uncomfortable. At the worst we have been depressed. And between the two are a wide array of feelings and emotions and whatever else one wants to call the nasty.

I think it can all be summed up in one word though. 

Loss. 

For all of us it's the loss of normalcy, which in word can be cheapened, but it is loss all the same. And y'all...it's hard. For us adults it's not only hard but it's hard to explain to the ones we are raising and mentoring. It's hard to explain because of another loss...the loss of answers. We don't know the other end of the "what ifs...", but then again have we ever known and just now in this time it's becoming all too clear. 

Seniors have lost their final high school memories. Coaches and players have lost seasons. Some students have lost perhaps the only peace they know in the comfort of a teacher's care and a school's providence. 

Engaged couples have lost the excitement of celebrations and had to move their wedding dates. Families have lost travel plans and vacations for which they spent months planning and saving. Celebrations of life are now limited to gravesides for fifteen minutes, causing some to lose the chance to say goodbye.

Some have lost jobs. Some have lost financial security. Many have lost trust and confidence and doubt is creeping in. There are even some more than likely on the brink of losing sanity. 

And then of course many have lost their health and safety, and most tragically some have even lost life. There are no words. 

All of us have experienced loss in some way to some degree. There should be no comparison. Let's stop with the judgement. We all need to allow space for the loss of whatever it is to be grieved and the feelings that are there to be felt. Just like almost all things in life, everything concerning this time in our lives and history isn't black and white...there is so much grey.  

During my quiet and meditation time this weekend He keeps placing one thing repeatedly on my heart...

"Whatever you know to be true..."

Jesus. 

That is what is true. Really the only thing that is true.

I have been asking myself from the beginning of all this, what would He do? 

The other night I was social distance visiting outside with a couple of friends. Another friend joined us briefly and he mentioned I looked a bit tired and stressed. He took me by surprise when he reached out and hugged me. That is exactly what this extrovert who speaks love with physical touch needed. 

And I immediately thought, that is exactly what Jesus would do. 

Jesus would hug those that needed hugging without reservation. He was known for touching lepers and people who had some pretty nasty germs back in the day, you know. By the way, it wasn't socially acceptable either. I don't think He would be any different today.

But you know what else. Jesus would wear a mask, too. If that made someone feel loved and cared for, He'd wear a mask. He brought people down from trees and went to their houses so they would be comfortable. He met with people in the dead of night so they would feel safe. He went to bedsides and graves to heal and to raise. He even gave the promise of heaven to a trouble maker while they were dying on crosses. 

So what would He do? He would do what ever is needed to be done for those that He loves. He would give a hug or make a visit. He would wear a mask and practice social distancing. And He would do all the other things that fall somewhere between.

The rain continues to be a beautiful positive as it's now joined with the loud crashes of thunder and the flashes of lightning. We view today's weather in human eyes and think of this being such a sad and imperfect day to celebrate Easter. If the quarantines and isolation weren't enough, throw in the nasty weather and it's about as imperfect as you can get. 

But what if that Sunday morning so many many years ago was rainy and nasty, much like today. Would that have changed anything? No not at all. 

A beautiful sky, green grass, eggs and a bunny, and the fancy clothes...those things don't make for a perfect Easter. 

The only perfection ever needed is alive and well and continues to be the answer to all the unanswered questions, the hope for every doubt, and the love for everyone who has loss. 

Jesus. 

A Post by One of the Three Kids

Nancy Caroline’s Saba 2020 Blog Post...

On January 17 & 18 our Saba Spring Break 2020 group of 24 members met in Woodbury at the Cannon Inn to start our planning. That weekend we spent time planning events, elementary classes, high school classes, getting to know our fellow teammates through spiritual formation, and learning a little more about the island we planned to land on almost eight weeks later.

We continued this preparation every sunday night from then until some not so good news came on March 3rd.

On this day our team was informed that no students would be allowed to go on a spring break mission trip due to the out break of COVID-19. The 13 students that had planned, fundraised, and prayed for this trip would not longer get to step foot on this island when planned. But as a group and with Sabans we decided better few than none. So 9 of 24 team members continued to prepare to go to this beautiful island.

This planning was hard knowing we would have so many children sad that their “favorite lipscomb,” could not come. But we pushed through reworking events, classes, and meals.

Once all of this was figured out the now team of nine loaded up, on March 13th, with all the supplies and food needed for the next ten days on “The Unspoiled Queen.”

Arriving on the last flight to Saba that night the team was now ready to see God’s purpose for all the changes and craziness. That night we ate our annual first night meal at swinging doors with a few Sabans joining us. That meal brought both joy and laughter, getting to catch up with the people we have missed while away.

We went through out our saturday with so much happiness and joy to wake up and walk around in paradise. Getting to escape the craziness and madness we didn’t know the extent of back home.

That day some of us got up and went to serve the people of saba by building a bus stop. While the rest of us got a few extra hours of sleep. Lunch was a traditional saban meal of johnny cakes as a reward of hard work. That afternoon some of us took strolls through the bottom to deliver things to locals, look at God’s beautiful creation, and find as many kids as possible to talk to. Coming all back together as a team to get ready to go eat our dinner with an oh so welcoming Indian family on the island. Followed by our kick off event of ice cream at the gazebo. This day was filled with service, relationships, and love. But little did we know this would be some of our last days on Saba.

During our event we got word that St. Maarten, the only airport that flies in to Saba, is closing its air space to prevent any further development of coronavirus on their island. At family meeting that night the entire team learned the news and there came the tears, anger, and emptiness. Our arrangements home now had been moved a week before any of us had planned.

Five members left on the first flight out that Sunday morning, with the other four leaving Monday.

Going home is always the hardest part, but it was extra hard this time. Knowing that we had told the kids the night before we would see them Monday to play, talk, teach. We had said all of our hellos not knowing they were actually our goodbyes.

Entering back into the United States was nothing like us or any of our family members imagined. There was no integration, no medical screenings, but there also was no toilet paper. Our hearts were hurting the whole way home knowing we may have let a little kid down.

For me I was hurting because I really needed Saba, and although I got her for 67 hours. I still longed for her scenery and her people. I knew it was safer to be home than in a foreign country, but I didn’t know why God had sent us to just come home so early.


We have now all been home for three weeks, and for me at least, not much has gotten easier. The sadness is definitely easier to hide but still there. The regret for not talking to more people than I did, still nas at my stomach. But I do know God sent us for a reason. Maybe it was just to be able to let Sabans know that trough this pandemic, we wish we could be with them, but want to keep them safe. Maybe one of us said something to a Saban in those 62 - 67 hours we spent on island that will change there life. We may not know the exact reason for all of this madness now, but I do know God will eventually show us.

Although our time was cut short, I am still so thankful for the team I went with, the Sabans I hugged or elbow bumped, and all the laughs along the way.

This trip will forever be known as the weekend trip to Saba to build a bus stop!

-Nancy Caroline

Sticky Fingers and a Full Heart

My fingers got sticky. 

The kind of sticky where if you pinch your fingers together it’s hard to pull them apart. 

And after that, I came home.

Two weeks before departure for our Saba Spring Break , Lipscomb University decided to suspend all student international mission trips due to the virus which will not be named. Although hard to swallow, we understood. 

We knew there was an island full of folks that were expecting us, so our family and a hand full of alumni decided to head on down to spread the love. 

Our family flew a few days early and then were joined by four others. We reconstructed the trip’s itinerary and plans. We reworked the curriculum. Each of us tackled new responsibilities and knew it was all hands on deck. 

When we finally were together on the island and ready to get to work, travel bans begin to take place. Countries started closing borders. Worry began to spread. 

Still on Saturday morning it seemed things looked promising on my five square miles. So, we decided to unplug and get to work. 

We helped build and paint a school bus stop. It was to replace the one that was missing when the locals opened their windows the morning after a lady named Irma visited a little over a year ago. It was a hot, sunny Saturday on Saba and we loved every second of it. 

That night we invited all the children and teens to an ice cream social. That’s when my hands got sticky. 

We served approximately 150 kids ice cream with chocolate syrup. There was laughter and smiles and joy. There was sugared up energy and lots of ice cream filled bellies. 

Then a friend told me to look at my phone. It was full of texts and missed calls. St. Martin, the hub of our travel in and out of Saba, was closing its air space. I spent the rest of the evening once again making phone calls and exchanging messages to change plans and alter itineraries.

A lot of people hear mission trip and probably think, “Did you tell any of them about Jesus?”

A lot of people think that once you have loved on someone or done something kind, you must tell them about your faith. Verbally give a testimony about what Jesus can do for them.

But from my experience, a lot of times when you do it like that, folks go deaf. 

Lately I have been really enamored with the time Jesus fed the 5,000. I love how He had leftovers. 

We are told about the leftovers but we are never told how many people actually started accepting Him after they were fed. You know what else, I bet some of those present were there just to take advantage of the good food. And from what I can tell Jesus was okay with that. 

Jesus didn’t worry about being taken advantage of or the motives of the people He served or loved. He just served. He just loved. 

He loved and served with no questions, no expectations, and no strings attached. He even loved them with the knowledge some of them would yell “Crucify Him!” in the days to come. 

My sticky fingers after serving ice cream may not ever lead anyone to Jesus. But my sticky fingers can be an expression of faith and love, not a transaction looking for a certain result in return for a scoop of cookies and cream. 

But if a little friend one day tells me about the time I gave them ice cream with chocolate syrup and then asks me about Jesus, that will be awesome. I will be more than happy to tell them about the joy that Jesus has given me...joy that is greater than any earthly sugar rush imaginable. 

But if that never happens, it's okay. I am not told ice cream will change anyone. I am not told that I will change anyone...I am just commanded to love everyone. Jesus takes care of the changing. 

Much can happen in a short amount of time. A lot can change. He used a school bus stop and a virus to change and turn my heart in just a few days. Oh, and sticky fingers. Can’t forget those.  He used those, too. 

As I write this I am on a flight a few hundred miles from Nashville. The Thomas family is on hour 37 of our efforts to get home. It’s been an adventure for lack of a better term. An emotional and mental roller coaster we never saw coming. 

We are thankful for our time although brief. We are thankful for each other and for the laughter our family can muster even in the most stressful of times. We are thankful for our teammates...those that traveled and those that had to stay behind. We are thankful for the guidance and care our friends on the island gave us during the chaos of this situation. We are thankful for our family and friends near and far that have prayed for us and have cared for us in various ways. 

And we are thankful for Saba. We miss you desperately. 

“Every act of love is a profession of faith because it whispers His name.” 

 -Bob Goff

Quit Asking Questions

In this season of my life I find myself carrying a couple of titles I didn't see coming...

In School Suspension Coordinator.

Cross Country Coach.

Sure, I guess I am good at discipline, remediation, and supervision. And I guess you can say I know how to run and I think it's fun and healthy and challenging. But I never thought either of these things would become my "job".

One thing is for sure, my days and afternoons at Watertown High School are filled with questions.

"But why did I have to have ISS?"

"Wait, I already turned this in. Can I go speak to that teacher?"

"Who put me in here?"

"Hey coach, how many miles are we running today?"

"Wait, where did you want us to run?"

"Coach, five hills...really?"

"Hey coach, what did you say?"

Questions. Repetitive questions. Questions spoken just to kill some time. Questions to which we already know the answer. They get on my nerves. A pet peeve of mine I guess you could say.

Way back when, the "experts in religion", the elders, the priests, and important "church" people, they all loved to ask questions of Jesus. Many times they were repetitive. The questions were in abundance. And almost always...I'd say a good 9.5 out of 10...the questions had an ulterior motive.

One day one of these fellas asked..."Hey Jesus, what should I do so I can go to heaven?"

Knowing this guy was an expert in the law, Jesus gives a question right back to him..."You know what the law says, right? How do you read it?"

The man answered with an affirmative..."Love God...and love your neighbor."

Ding ding ding! Right answer! And then Jesus told him to go and do it.

Question answered. Case closed. Job done. One would think so, but not so fast.

"And just who is my neighbor?"

I can almost hear the sarcasm of "A-ha I got you now!"

Now most all of us know what followed and I love it. Jesus pretty much made it clear and simple by telling a story. He spoke of a man taking care of another man who had been beaten that he supposedly didn't even like. Even an enemy is your neighbor! Boom!

We think the mic drop is a new and trendy thing to do today. Whatever. Jesus did it all the time back in the day.

Lately, I have had something else on my mind about this chunk of scripture...

We need to quit asking the same question today and start acting like we have heard the story and know the answer. Quit asking who your neighbor is and just start loving them! He already told you!

For the Samaritan it was the Jewish man. Today that may look like this...

For the healthy it's the sick. For the democrat it's the republican. For the straight man it's the homosexual. For the wealthy it's the homeless. For the married woman it is her friend who is divorcing.  For the cool kid that is walking the halls it's the kid that is made fun of and doesn't fit in. For a member of one "denomination" it's the member of another. For the sober minded it's the addict.  For the legal American it's the immigrant. For the Christian it's the atheist.

The list could go on and on. But the point is let's stop asking the same 2000 year old question trying to ignore the answer that has already been given. And you know what...the answer to this question may be the solution to all of our problems.

It doesn't matter if you agree on everything 100%...guess what you won't. LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR. It doesn't matter if they are in the wrong...somewhere along the way we all have been wrong about something. LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR.  It doesn't matter if it makes you uncomfortable...Jesus never once commanded us to be comfortable. LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR.  It doesn't matter if they are outside our circles...lots of folks that Jesus visited with were supposedly outside of his. LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR.

If we claim to love God we have no other option than to love your neighbor. We can't do one without the other. Let's quit asking the question and just do the job.

Jochebed, Hannah, and Mary

His cries and his babbles were just too frequent and too loud. She had hidden him for as long as she could. The labor had been so lonely, the delivery so hard, but it had been worth every second of the last three months. When this mother had first looked at the little face of the tiny boy, to doubt he was created to be great was impossible.

Her hands were sticky and rough from working with the papyrus and the tar. She was tired from the demands of motherhood. Her eyes filled with tears as she swaddled him tight and whispered a prayer of protection and eternal love. She placed him in the basket and soon found herself standing on the banks of the murky river.

With every hint of faith she could muster, she pushed aside the reeds and sat him sail, turning and walking away quickly before she changed her mind.

***

There wasn't a day that passed that she didn't remember the vow she had made. It was her first thought most mornings and her last most nights. She thought of it when he was nestled close to her breast for nourishment. His giggles were reminders of the commitment she had had made for him. As the little boy began to ask questions about the Creator, she was given assurance and confidence that he was equipped by a Higher Power for a greater purpose.

She had prayed for strength as she packed the food and gathered supplies for the trip. A few more days to Shiloh, and then the inevitable. Those last few days had seemed like seconds in time.

With their burnt offering complete, their greatest sacrifice was impending. She asked for some miraculous deliverance as she walked toward the priest. He remembered her and smiled with assurance and gratitude. She knelt beside her son, once again explaining his calling. Her lips brushed his cheek as she rose to her feet and raised her hands in worship to the One to whom her son had always belonged.

***

"It is as you have said."

She wondered why she had ever said the words. Why had she just not screamed with refusal? Would it have been possible to say no?

This was more than the mother of the thirty year old could stand. The hatred that spewed from their mouths. The sound of the whips.  The betrayal of his friends. The cheers from the mob. The look in His eyes. As she watched his hands weakly grip the wooden beam, her memories took her back to the little hands that held to her tightly as they walked the streets of Nazareth. She then knew it would have been impossible to have dismissed her duty allowing someone else to fill her role.

She had been present when this man had entered into this hard human world. She would be present when His soul left it. She had cheered him on in his first steps. She had cherished watching him work alongside his earthly father. She had encouraged his miraculous ways and watched in amazement as he had done the impossible. All of this was stored securely in her heart. She hadn't missed a moment; she would not miss the last.

So as his mother she would sit vigil on the hillside at the foot of this cross and watch her son become her Savior.

***

In the chaos of mothering my three, I wonder...

Could I have been as brave?

Could I have been as faithful?

Could I have been as willing?

I hurt. When they fall down and scrape their knee. When they slide into base and break their collar bone. When they fall onto the hard ground from atop the monkey bars. When their inquisitive nature has them stick their hand in a snow cone machine. I hurt.

I teach. First words, eating from a spoon, and potty training. ABCs and 123s. Bible verses and nursery rhymes. Homework and manners. How to clean and cook. How to drive. I teach.

I laugh. When I realize there is much more to the job than I realized. When they say the craziest things at the most inopportune time. Even when the joke isn't funny. When I realize I have no clue what is going on. When they laugh. I laugh.

I am proud. First steps and purple ribbons. Report cards full of As and Bs...or maybe even Cs. Ropes climbed, speeches given, and games won. Good decisions and kind words. Just to call them mine. I am proud.

I hurt more. When they are intentionally left out. When someone's words cut sharper than a knife. When they fail at something they love. When their innocence is taken from the cruelty of the world. I hurt so much more.

I pray. Safety and health. For forgiveness of the failures I am sure will lead them to years of therapy. Success and happiness. Wisdom and discernment. For their spouses and marriages. Spiritual growth. Freedom found in only Christ. Sweet dreams and love deeper still. I pray.

I am ashamed. When I lose my temper. When I am selfish with my time. When I miss a moment due to a preoccupation with my own agenda. When they are witness to my sinful nature. I am ashamed.

I love. To a fault. Unconditionally. Constantly and relentlessly. I love.

But am I as brave as Jochebed? Am I as faithful as Hannah? Is there anyway I could be as willing as Mary?

Maybe the waters of the Nile were just as murky as the hallways of today's high schools, or a city's busy streets, or the day to day routines in our grocery stores and peaceful neighborhoods. We have no idea what is lurking beneath the "waters". Will I let them go?

I must be brave.

Maybe today the smell of a coffee shop or a neighbor's house or even a locker room can have the same impact as the scent of the sacrifices on an alter in Samuel's day. It was about Eli bringing him to the feet of God. A friend, a mentor, or a coach can do those things, too. Will I share them?

I must trust and be faithful.

Maybe laying down one's life today looks like speaking up and out when others don't. Maybe it looks like sitting with the kid that is a little different and then being made fun of for doing so. Maybe it looks like an answer to a call that separates the physical presence of loved ones. Will I sit by them while they accept where the Spirit is leading them? Maybe it looks different from anything in my rearing and in my wheelhouse and as what I have always seen as the only way. Will I be open to what is different, but still just as true?

I must be willing.

But...

I am selfish and prideful. They are mine I want to keep them from the unknown. It is my job to keep them safe. It should be me that teaches them to be image bearers. I want to be the one that they come to and learn from. I want to show them the way to the Father. I want their mission to look like my own. I want to keep them where I can tangibly reach them and see them and be with them. They are mine. I am selfish. I am prideful.

I need forgiveness.

Father God, Forgive me. Make me selfless. Grace me with humility. Make me brave and help me push them out into the waters trusting Your plans for my children. Bring people into their lives to partner with me to guide them and teach them and bring them closer to resembling Your Son. Help me encourage them to sit at different feet than mine. Increase my faith in Your development of their faith. And make me willing to stand by their sides as they answer Your call, no matter what it may be or look like or even how hard it may be.

Make me brave. Increase my faith. Open my heart and make me willing.  

Sundays on Saba

Jackson's laugh, Nancy Caroline's dimple, Sadie's little feet. The color yellow, good coffee, and the smell of a #2 pencil. The way Michael says "comfort", a candle burning, and the feel a good book in my hand. The wisdom of my father, the love of my mother, and the feel of home. Sundays on Saba.

These are a few of my favorite things.

When we moved to Saba years ago, we knew that churching was going to be a bit of a challenge. The type of church we had been accustomed to and raised in was not found on the island. But worshiping our Father was a must and we decided to do that in our home. God provided a few friends that shared the same type of spiritual background so we met together. Sundays quickly became one of my favorite parts of my life on Saba.

Lately I have been trying to take my mind back to those sacred days and try to put my finger on why they were so special.

In the informality of our homes we would sing praises and study the scriptures.  We prayed together.  We studied and asked questions. We communed and visited. We shared our fears and doubts. We gathered in our living rooms and around dinner tables. There was an abundance of laughter and then even tears at times. We visited and then we rested. If I have ever known true Sabbath, Sundays on Saba were it.

With that Sabbath came peace and assurance of Kingdom living that had purpose and was undeniably God breathed. We studied and discipled. We served those in our circle and those outside our circle. Everyone was welcomed. Questions could be asked and genuinely heard and taken to heart. And then we attempted to answer them. Equality was understood and respected. We valued each other's views, feelings, wants, and needs.  We respected each other's backgrounds and cultures. No one placed limitations guided by human opinions.  I do not remember anyone ever being offended or demanding their own way.

On Sunday mornings I never worried about what I was going to wear or if Michael would be judged for wearing something someone deemed disrespectful. Some days the Caribbean heat was a bit much. Other days the dampness could be felt as the clouds floated through our opened windows. Neither of these ever drew complaints. Some of us sat on the floor. Some of us sat on bar stools that had no backs. There were no walls to paint, floors to carpet, or parking lots to resurface.  All of our tithing went to help people who needed to be loved in some way.

What does one call this? This is the truest definition of church. Most of us are never blessed enough to experience it openly and honestly. As I spend more and more time in the corporate American church, I praise the Creator of it more and more for the two years I got to taste it. It was not perfect...but it was truth seeking and love giving. The two must go hand in hand. And contrary to belief, it is possible.

Relationship, true relationship is so very hard. Godly hospitality is even harder. Loving the way Christ did for most of us is the hardest. But He is the head of the church...He claimed it and took ownership of it. All He asks of us is to acknowledge Him as the leader He is and act like He is our Lord. And to be quite blunt, for the most part we stink at this task.

We allow cultural preferences to become truth and traditional norms to be the sole expectations. The status quo becomes gospel. We are blinded by the comforts of what we have always known. We make gods out of men who should be seen as shepherds and send servant hearted deacons to do minuscule tasks that Jesus never saw coming. We have silenced and ignored women to a fault and that is a huge loss. Boys have a whole list of intimidating expectations to arise to while little girls can't find their place in the Kingdom as it has been painted. Our opinions out weigh biblical truth and our insistence on comfort overshadows Christ's example of uninhibited, unconditional, true, hospitable, relational love.

Our selfish and prideful human desires have become the head of the Church.

God have mercy on us.

We must seek Sabbath and look to resembling our namesake until His reflection is all that can be seen. What does that look like? How can we know? Look at the stories. Read the word. Ask the questions. You will find love and joy and hope full of faith with arms and hearts opened wide. There will be no stoic faces graced with silenced mouths with arms crossed or hands in full pockets. No hard fast, cold opinion oriented rules with a heavy dose of disappointment and scolding ready to be dealt.  Just a place to be heard and accepted and discipled and loved.

And that doesn't only have to take place in a house on a little remote island. That's just where it happened for me. It can take place in an African village or on a Southeast Asian street or in a Mexican orphanage. It can occur in a classroom or at a camp or in a coffee shop. When Jesus walked the earth it took place by the sea, at wells full of water, and on hillsides. It can take place anywhere, even in the comfort of an American "church building". Some of us just have to have the courage to stand up and make it happen.

Motherhood, Jesus, and an Instapot

Hey fellow mommas, I want you to know that I think this is tough, too.

It hasn't been lying on my back in a blanket of grass, laughing, and blowing bubbles with my little one. Yes, I will admit, that is what my crazy disillusioned brain thought this motherhood thing would be like. Yeah, we'd pick flowers and bake cookies and whisper bedtime lullabies.  As they grew, I'd become a friend and the eternally "cool mom". We'd talk through the little hiccups of life and there would be peace and we'd live the dream. A walk in the park. A bed of roses. One beautiful moment after another, and I'd be blissfully thankful for all of it.

Reality.

I am allergic to ants so I can't lay in the grass. If there is an open bottle of bubbles, any given toddler WILL spill it all over the place. It's easier to buy flowers. Cookies burn. Michael Thomas + Aletha Thomas = Loud Children and Loud Lullabies.  "Cool" isn't even a word the new generations use, much less put it with the word "mom". Peaceful and little and hiccup do not go hand in hand. A walk in the hype of Times Square. A bed of dirty, stinky bed sheets. Yeah that is more like it. But still...

Beautiful moment, after beautiful moment creating blissful thankfulness.

Instead of being thankful for those dreamed up made from scratch cookies, last night with a room full of other mothers of different ages gathered around open bibles, I gave thanksgiving to our Creator for my Instapot.  An Instapot, y'all, an Instapot. I thanked God for my Instapot.

I couldn't help but chuckle and the ladies laughed. Humanity. We usually lose sight of how beautiful of a thing it really is. The simplicity of laughter. The honesty of being grateful for a kitchen utensil. The vulnerability of allowing others see that in a day that most of us could relate to, if being thankful for an Instapot is all that we could speak, then we knew He understood.

The thankfulness for the Instapot comes from it being a tool that made life easier on an afternoon and evening that seemed impossible. It gave me some breathing room and extra time and helped me feed five other hungry mouths. Grace that can be pressure cooked in ten minutes.

The Instapot was the easiest solution to the easiest first world problem. If I really wanted to live out vulnerability and relationship and community, then I need to open up about what is behind the Instapot prayer.

The feelings of inadequacy. I am supposed to meet their needs...to feed them and clothe them and house them. I am supposed to encourage their talents and help them reach their goals...be the biggest cheerleader and taxi driver around. But three kids, three different sets of talents and passions and goals...I can't seem to do it all. There are only 24 hours in a day.  But then there is so much more. The bigger stuff. The questions I ask myself in my own head...Am I laughing enough with them? Am I answering their questions the way I should? Am I listening? Am I tuned in? Am I showing up...and not just physically?

The fear of the unknown. It is a fear that many don't acknowledge. It makes me shutter.  I know it happens, I read the stories and have witnessed the aftermath.  The questions silently continue to the point it's hard to think about anything else. Are they hurting? Is someone or something bothering them? Are they carrying a burden all alone? Are they scared or confused or depressed? Why won't they tell me?  And this world they are living in...it is crazy! There isn't any way to protect them from things I can't see coming. And the greatest fear...satan...is he after them?

The shame of selfishness. I want to be all things to the three kids all the time. I want to be their go to; always first; always before everyone else, even there earthly father...now how selfish is that?! Maybe even controlling...and that makes me want to vomit. But on the flip side...the side that "supermoms" aren't supposed to feel ever. But if we are being honest...I want to to have time to myself. I want to eat an entire plate of food without sharing or letting it get cold. I want to decide to go somewhere on a whim and not have to come up with solutions to the gaps my absence leaves in an itinerary of life for five. Ughhh...I am embarrassed to even say that.

The absence of faith. He made me their mom. He wouldn't give me any more than I can handle. He knows I can do this...therefore I can...at least I think I can? He isn't only my Father...He is their Father. He knows them better than I do and loves them infinitely more than I do. He knows the number of hairs on their heads, the thoughts in their brains, and all the emotions that are stirring in their little souls. My faith should erase the fear of the unknown, ease the feelings of inadequacy and remove the shame of selfishness. But I doubt and question and I am weak.

Therefore He will be made strong.

A guy in my church family always reminds us of this...Jesus was 100% God but also 100% human. He gets us. He was never a mother, but when we grasp this massive ratio, then we know He can relate. It's why He came. To be with us. To walk on the same earth. To understand. To love us well.

Emmanuel.

I wonder if He ever thought, "Did I do enough? Did they understand what I said?"

In the wilderness or in garden I wonder if the fear of the unknown was present.

When there were so many people needing His help that He couldn't even find time to eat, I wonder if that is when He knew what selfishness might feel like.

He was God, but He was human so I wonder if He had to question why He had even come at times.

Everytime I plug up that Instapot, I hope I can always be thankful. Thanksgiving needs to be given for the opportunity of being a mother who feels inadequate at times, who is afraid of the unknown and can be selfish, and whose faith isn't always as present as it should be.

It makes me 100% human.

The fact that He was 100% human, too gives me comfort, provides relationship, and creates confidence when much is lost.

The fact that He was 100% God, clothes me in grace, grounds me in hope, restores my faith, and redeems me, even in this crazy thing we call motherhood.